


Smoke and Fire

by bisexualoftheblade



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical The Stranger Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualoftheblade/pseuds/bisexualoftheblade
Summary: Feel the heat so we started runningYou know you saw it comingBut the memories are still in my mindBurning like smoke and fireTim jumped in fear, spinning toward the sudden sound behind him. “Get away from me!” he cried. The clown that wore Basira’s face muttered some half hearted protest - an attempt to trap him, to take his skin.“I’m not one of them” it slurred out, its voice a cheap facsimile of a human.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 21





	Smoke and Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elfgrunge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/gifts).



> Thanks to TheBrightestNight for beta reading!

_Feel the heat so we started running_

_You know you saw it coming_

_But the memories are still in my mind_

_Burning like smoke and fire_

Tim jumped in fear, spinning toward the sudden sound behind him. “Get away from me!” he cried. The clown that wore Basira’s face muttered some half hearted protest - an attempt to trap him, to take his skin. 

“I’m not one of them,” it slurred out, its voice a cheap facsimile of a human.

Tim stared at it, wondering when Nikola had become this foolish, this bad at her job. He glared at the figure in front of him and spat out, “everyone is, this isn’t – just get back.” The figure wearing Basira’s skin took a step back. It knew the axe Tim held was dangerous, and skin was a precious commodity. 

“Okay, okay who – who are you?” it asked. 

Tim laughed in anger. “I don’t know, do I?” he spat at it. He knew better than to give the Stranger a name, an identity. You give it an inch, it takes a mile.

“What can we do?” it asked, pretending like it cared. _Just like “Sasha” cared_ . _Just like the thing that wore Danny’s skin had cared._

Tim shook his head, trying to clear the whispers in his head. He couldn’t trust them, couldn’t trust anything. Who knew if they were even his own thoughts. “It’s too late,” he said. “There’s nothing.”

It stared at him, a look of faux shock and despair painting it’s face. It began to sputter, desperate to regain some ground. “There _must_ be. We just need to figure this out. I – I know I’m me…”

Tim let out a bitter laugh. “So what’s your name?” he asked. “Huh? Who exactly is ‘me’?” He knew it wouldn’t be able to answer. Of course it wouldn’t. Basira had probably left them all to die. It wouldn’t surprise him. She was a cop, and she had shown no remorse over killing innocents for the “greater good.”

The thing pretending to be Basira paused, unsure where to go now. It knew Tim was dangerous, but it also wanted to win. So it tried again. After all, this was just a game to it. “Doesn’t matter. Names don’t matter. I just… I know – I know I’m me and I know I’m here.” 

Tim groaned, he was tired of this thing. He didn’t want to hear its lies anymore. “Bullshit,” he laughed, “‘here’ is just –”

“There’s things that –” It burst, interrupting Tim, clearly desperate to make him _believe_ it, “that they’re not me, they want to hurt me, but. I don’t want to hurt you.” It was pleading now, the last cries of a broken toy.

“I don’t believe you,” he spat.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” it pleaded.

“Get back!” he cried, raising the axe higher. 

It began to creep closer. “No, we can do this,” it pleaded. “I – I can do this, I just need you to –”

“I said get away!” Tim yelled. 

The thing that wore Basira’s skin got closer, trying to touch Tim, to calm him down. Tim swung, and he heard the thud of an axe cutting through flesh. And he kept swinging. And swinging. And swinging. 

“Don’t… wait. I don’t… I don’t understand,” it cried. Tim kept swinging.

_But I've been burning down_

_'Cause it's like fire is all I hear about_

_And we are fading out_

_Don't wanna turn out the light_

Tim shook with rage, desperately swinging, unsure what or who he was hitting anymore. “I’ll kill you. All of you!” he screamed. His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t care. He had to get out, had to win. He had to _kill_ them. And he didn’t care if Jon stood in his way. Not anymore.

“Sarah” laughed, a sound that caused Tim’s ears to ring. It was wrong. “Will you now?” she asked. 

Tim tried his best to ignore her. He knew it wasn’t Sarah, it couldn’t be. Just like this wasn’t Jon. Or maybe it was. He didn’t care. Jon had made it clear long ago he didn’t care about Tim, so why should Tim care about him? 

Around them the mannequins drew closer, maniacal grins painting their wax faces. 

“Let them fight! It’s adorable!” Nikola cried out, her mechanical laughter ringing out around them, bouncing and echoing off each mannequin. 

Jon let out a strained cry. “Wait, Tim! What do you see?”

Tim growled, fists swinging, “I see my asshole boss!” Then he paused. “Or – or… wait… wait.”

Nikola let out a displeased groan, “Spoilsport.”

“Sarah” growled out a “Tim.” as the mannequins began to circle in on him and Jon. 

Tim let out a snarl, “Grimaldi.”

_Smoke and fire_

_Smoke and fire_

_Don't you know that_

_If there's smoke there's fire_

Nikola laughed. “Once. A long time ago, before Orsinov made me. And sometimes, even now, for special occasions. Like your brother.” Her voice distorted, echoing and shaking and becoming something so much more _wrong_ , “Shall I?” 

Jon looked at Tim, a frantic expression on his face. “Tim, what’s in your hand?” he said, his voice strained.

Tim’s voice was shaking slightly, “It’s… I don’t… The detonator.” His grip tightened, thumb hovering over the trigger. 

Nikola smiled a smile that seemed to almost split her face in half. “That’s quite enough from you, I think.” she said, and threw Jon across the room. Tim heard him cry out before there was a sickening thud. Tim didn’t look. He may have hated Jon, but he still didn’t want to see what Nikola had done to him. “And now you.” She smirked.

Tim grinned. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll race you. See if you can do it again before I can squeeze.” He raised his hand to show the detonator again and watched, as for just one single second, a flash of panic struck their wax faces. 

“Sarah” laughed. “It’s too late!” she cried.

Nikola stepped closer. “The world is ours!” she cried. “That toy won’t help you now.”

Tim smirked. “So come and take it.” He watched as the two figures paused. They knew they couldn’t move fast enough. He had them at an impasse. He had a chance for revenge and he was going to take it. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

Nikola’s voice turned cold and sharp. “I am losing my patience,” she hissed out, her smile turning sharp and deadly. She began to advance and so did the other wax figures.

Tim burst out a panicked cry and raised the detonator higher, “Back! Get back. That’s right.” He paused, and looked toward where Jon’s body lay. “Jon. I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… then I don’t forgive you. But thank you for this.” Tim knew he was going to die. But at least he was taking these bastards down with him.

_Oh, oh, and now it's over_

_Oh, oh, I'm getting colder_

_Oh, oh, and it's the feeling_

_Like running into a burning building_

Nikola laughed again, but Tim could hear the panic in her voice now. She was _scared._ She knew he would do it. “You idiot!” she cried out, a last desperate plea, “Do you really think the world will fare any better under the Watcher? You think you’re saving anyone?!”

Tim’s face curled into a bitter smile. “I don’t care.” 

Nikola was desperate now. She knew her time was running short, and she would do whatever it took to complete the dance. “You can’t even save him!” Her cries grew shriller and shriller, the sound of a dying animal. 

Tim’s voice was cold. “But I can hurt you.” This was what he had wanted for years. A chance to hurt them like they hurt him. And it was finally in his grasp. All he needed to do was push the button. The detonator was heavier than he had thought it would be. 

“It will not end like this.” Nikola hissed. She was desperate, the wax on her face starting to warp and twist from the way she tried to make her smile larger to hide the fear. 

Tim let out a dry chuckle. “You sound stressed,” he said, “you know I hear the great Grimaldi’s in town. You should go see it, cheer yourself up.” 

“That’s. Not. Funny.”

“I know.”

Tim’s thumb hovered over the button. He closed his eyes, and pressed down. The pain was worse than he had thought. And then he heard his brother call his name, and the world faded to white.

_Oh, oh, and now it's over_

_Oh, oh, I'm getting colder_

_I'm so tired_

_Burning like smoke and fire_

The funeral was a small one. 

Sasha was dead, Daisy was in the coffin, Jon was in the hospital, no one had seen Martin since they got back, and Tim’s family was dead. He was alone. 

Basira and Melanie stood by his grave, a silent procession to mourn a man who had no one left.

“Do you think he’s happy now?” Basira asked, adjusting the bandages covering her arms. 

There was a long pause before Melanie spoke up. “I think he’s happy he killed them.”

The two of them sat in silence once more. Neither of them had known Tim, not really. They knew an empty shell of rage that wore Tim’s name, but not the Tim they heard stories of. All they knew was a bitter man, consumed in his quest to kill the things that had taken so much from him. The Stranger had gotten his identity in the end.

And so the world moved on. Tim lay in a small grave near the Institute, with no one to mourn him and no one to care about what he had sacrificed himself for.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, feel free to hit me up on tumblr @bisexualoftheblade!


End file.
